Re: Diner: Seven & Marta
So maybe something changed, yeah. But it wasn’t weighted down with disappointment, despite what the sudden slump of her narrow shoulders seemed to broadcast on the other side of the booth. He’d been momentarily encouraged by the broadening of her smile, feeling secured in the knowledge that he had made that happen. That it was still possible, for him to make her laugh even if it was against all efforts. Even if every bone in her body desperately strove to tend towards nonchalance.
“Hey,” he said, his tone gentle but still slightly chiding. His eyebrows knitted with a single stitch between them, just barely furrowed. Because as much as he could suppose at the protrusion of her collarbone and ribcage, so too could he read the way in which she shrank.
“Stop. This is not some signal for you to spiral, okay? I know this is fucking weird - ”
And there, Seven’s hand lifted from the Formica as he had originally wanted, palm-up and fingers loose. He didn’t reach for her. He just offered, unassuming. “- but we don’t have to pretend like we’re strangers, yeah? I think we owe each other that much… A little honesty, brutal as it may be.”